


How to: art

by aijato



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, IronDad and SpiderSon, Irondad, My First Fanfic, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aijato/pseuds/aijato
Summary: Peter struggles with an important art assignment for school. But at least there is nothing dangerous in painting, right? Nothing can go wrong. It's an easy and harmless task. There is nothing that would give Tony a heart attack, right? It's all safe and sound.Cue Peter Parker luck
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	How to: art

**Author's Note:**

> Hej hej, thank you for stopping by. This is my first fic- I tried, haha. I had the idea for the story lingering around for a while and I'm brave enough now to post it. 
> 
> TW for the mentioning of blood.

Peter Parker was extremely intelligent. He was a natural science talent, acing in chemistry and math. His grades were remarkable. In all classes. Absolute all classes. Best grades everywhere. 

Oh well. Really? In all classes? 

There had to be exceptions to the rules. And these exceptions were PE and art. The reason why Peter was lacking in PE was obvious. He was still trying to protect his secret identity as Spiderman by pretending that he was to absolutely no use in any kind of physical activity. 

‘Peter Parker? The child that can't even throw a ball further than his own feet and Spiderman being the same person? Impossible.’ It was part of his sophisticated strategy to keep himself and his family and friends safe. 

And then there was art class. Yeah. Art class on the other hand— well. Peter had no idea, why he couldn't get over a C. 

"Yeah, a total mystery," MJ muttered sarcastically, eyeing the wrecked looking sculpture Peter had handed in for his last assignment.

Peter, MJ and Ned sat in their last class of the day which was, to Peter's dismay, art.

"The battlefield after Thanos had more expression than that," MJ remarked dryly and Peter let out a frustrated sigh. 

He crumpled his report paper in his hands defeated and sad. Another F. 

"This will cost me my place with MIT in the end," he hissed irritated, mentally averaging his grades again. MJ rolled her eyes and Ned whispered an annoyed ' _stop being such a drama queen, dude_!' But Peter couldn't help it. He tried so hard with every assignment to get it right. But there wasn't a formula or any red line to follow like in his other classes. 

"It is all about your heart and soul," his teacher had said. "You can't make it an equation, Mr. Parker. You have to feel it. Stop using your head."

Peter huffed again, remembering his teacher's advice. It was pointless. There was a reason Peter attended a science focused school. Because he was a freaking scientist! Well, almost. Going to be. And still he was stuck in classes like this. Why was there even an obligation to attend these?

"Your next assignment will account for 60% of your final grade," he heard Mrs. Pickens announce. Peters heart dropped. _60%_. He was completely done for. 

"Everyone of you will be provided with a canvas and your goal will be to express the most important moment in your life with colors, using the principles of color theory we just went through. You'll have until next week. Choose the materials and colors yourself." 

"Uh, that's code for 'the school won't pay for it'," MJ muttered irritated.

'Fine, I'll buy the cheapest pot of black color and pour it over the canvas, done, case closed,' Peter thought annoyed. Color theory. There were theories that matter to him, but not this. 

"I'm fucked," he whispered to Ned, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his brown locks, looking even more frustrated than minutes before.

"Language, dude!"

"Wow. Who are you now? Captain America?" Ned snickered and MJ grinned silently. But Peter's smile disappeared as soon as Mrs. Pickens handed him the canvas and sent her pupils on their way.

Geez. There wasn't any chance that he wouldn't not fail this.

— 

Peter cursed under his breath as he tried to maneuver the huge canvas onto the train without disturbing any of the other passengers. The canvas was enormous, almost making Peter stretch his arms full length to keep hold of it. He didn't want to risk to stick to it to prevent ripping the fine material apart. He had already struggled his way to a small art supply store, where he had checked his purse in dismay, realizing that he was almost out of money for the month and had to head for the cheapest color and brush options available.   
He had settled for a small selection of different shades of blue, red and gold, sealed in tins and an already rough and disheveled looking package of brushes. There was no way he could spend more money on this dreadful task. It would mean no additional snacks between classes until next month, and with his enhanced metabolism he was already hovering closely over the thin line of not eating enough, because money was always a tough topic for May and him. 

Peter had a vague idea of what he wanted to do with the canvas and hoped that the supply he bought would be sufficient. He got off the train, apologizing to the people around him and getting smaller and smaller behind the canvas. Normally he preferred to swing home or to the Tower after school, but his unwieldy load made this impossible today. So he walked the distance from the subway station up to the Tower, bag filled with the color tins dangling from on arm, clanging loud against each other, making it sound as if he was approaching on Santa's sleigh. 

_Embarrassing_. 

It was Friday. His lab day with Mr. Stark. With Tony. Peter smiled gladly. He was thankful for…everything after what had happened with Thanos. There was no chance he would ever take these days for granted. Because they all got so close to losing the battle. So close to death. Especially Tony. 

Glancing at his watch Peter realized that he still had two hours until he was supposed to meet with his mentor, because he skipped patrolling after school today. He really skipped being Spiderman because of an art project. Peter wailed silently behind the canvas. But there was nothing that could be done about this now, except using the time productively. So he would use the extra hours to start working on the canvas. He wasn't even sure if the canvas would fit into his room over in Queens. Even more reason to start working on it here and right away. He held the canvas up over his head as he arrived at the Tower, greeting the security staff at the reception and making a beeline for the elevators. 

"Hello, Peter. Nice to have you. What are you doing with the canvas?" Friday greeted him, sounding as curious as an AI could, as he entered the private elevator. 

"Hi, Fri," Peter smiled, shuffling the canvas awkwardly around, not sure how to handle it in the limited space. "Got an art project to do. Can you take me to the lab?"

"Sure thing, but Mister Stark isn't there yet. He is still in a meeting. He suggested you can wait in the common room if you arrive early."

"Nah, it's fine. I'll wait in the lab and start working on the canvas. I won't touch anything else. Promise."

"Alright, as you wish." The elevator hummed and took Peter up until he reached the floor where Tony's private labs were located. 

Peter struggled out of the elevator. The plastic bag full of colors got stuck on the handrail, ripping the bag apart and sending the tins flying in every direction. Peter cursed and shuffled his arm out of the remains of the plastic bag and finally fully exited the cabin, missing a few empty boxes that were stored in the corridor in the process and sending them down in a tumble. 

The remains of the bag got stuck in the elevator door, keeping it open, leading to an annoying warning sound. He groaned and peeked over the rim of the canvas as he proceeded along the hallway. He left a trail of destruction behind as he steered into the lab where he promptly collided again, sending two chairs and a bunch of papers to the floor. 

"Oh, please," Peter hissed as he finally leaned the canvas against a free spot at the lab's wall. He debated to clean the caused mess immediately, but decided to do it later, before Tony would arrive. He just wanted to get this dreadful art-task off of his hands. 

He stood for a minute, ignoring the high pitched sound of the elevator, even if it got harder with every moment, debating how to arrange the canvas best to work on it and decided to go for one of the higher lab chairs as a makeshift easel. He put the canvas on the chair and fixated it with a patch of webbing, after covering the seating with a few old blueprints that he made for his web-shooters. 

Humming content, Peter finally retraced his path to the elevator, collecting the color tins and stacking them together in one of the empty boxes he popped from the floor with a swift kick. 

Still humming, he checked the colors, getting lost in his thoughts, remembering the time that he and Ned had great ambitions to paint miniature Star Wars figurines. It hadn't end well and Ned had to repaint the ceiling of his room in the aftermath. 

Absently, Peter fumbled with the lid of the tin that contained a nice, crimson red. The warning sound of the elevator door was still ringing in Peter's head and he turned, continuously working to free the lid, to the elevator to remove the plastic bag.

And from there, everything went downhill.

Peter reached the elevator the same moment he got the lid removed. Everything would have been fine, if it wasn't for the unreasonable amount of strength he had used to open the tin. Annoyed due to the constant ringing in his ears, the level of frustration within him had risen to a point where he used way too much of his power as he should have. 

The lid flew open, sending the tin straight flying in the air as well. Peter, suddenly back from his thoughts of Star Wars figurines and the pressing warning tone of the elevator, tried to get hold of the tin, but it swirled through the air, covering the inside of the elevator, Peter's front, hands and part of his face in red, before landing in one of the numerous boxes scattered in the hallway, disappearing from view. The plastic bag caught a draft and was released from the door, leaving Peter in grim silence with the mess he had caused.

"Shit, shit, _shit_ ," Peter cursed, taking in all the chaos he had forced upon Tony's hallway. 

Nervously and stressed he scattered back into the lab, red paint dripping from his hands and hair, leaving a messy trail of crimson. Peter looked around helplessly. He had to clean the mess before Tony would notice. 

He gazed around frantically for rags or swipes, leaving another puddle of red in the process. He threw a miserable look at his hands, which resulted in a poor attempt to dry and clean them by patting along his trousers. No need to bother with water, he needed some special cleaning agent for the paint. Why again had he chosen waterproof colors? 

Suddenly overcome by the urge to hide the whole art-disaster, Peter shuffled to the canvas, trying to free it from the chair, a faint sense of panic bubbling in his chest. But the webbing was still firmly attached, not nearly dissolved at all. Together with the canvas he pulled the whole chair in his direction, struggling with his balance and lost it completely as he stumbled into the puddle of red paint, sending him sliding, not even a slight chance for his enhanced sense of balance to stop him from falling.

The canvas dropped and slid under one of the huge work benches. Peter yelped. His eyes got wide, and then he collided with the ground hard. Nothing but blackness sprinkled with red dots was left. Damn art! Damnit! _"You have to feel it!"_ Mrs. Pickens words echoed through his mind. 

"Doesn't fee' goo' a' all," Peter slurred. 

Then he was out cold.  
  
— 

The view over New York was marvelous. As always. Marvelous and quite… boring. It was the same view every day. Again and again. Tony Stark rolled his eyes and forced his glance away from the skyline one could overlook from the spacious meeting room on one of the top floors of the Tower. Since the world had been about to end by Thanos' hand but didn't — because of Tony, of course, he smirked— the world had gone quite. Everything had gone back to normal. Normal and even a little less. A little less of everything. It was like everyone was afraid to move. Always on the lookout. Afraid to risk the peace and life, which had become so fragile since humans got to know that they weren't alone in space. And that everything could end at the quick snap of two fingers. Literally. 

So everything was back to normal. Which meant endless meetings, responsibilities, documents, paper, paper, paper. And it was boring and made Tony restless. Especially with the constantly lingering and underlying fear of something happening. It had been quite hard for Tony to break the habit of always observing the sky for the next inter-dimensional breach or aliens entering the atmosphere. That much for moving on. Pepper always said that the work for SI would help him to calm down. But every time Tony sat in these boring meetings, he felt his thoughts drifting again. He couldn't focus. The fear was always whispering in the back of his head. That everything was tooo calm and too silent. And there were only a few things that could stop the whispering in his head these days.

He snapped himself back again into reality. The meeting had been going on for almost two hours with no end in sight. Tony got impatient, thinking about his lab session with Peter this afternoon. He hoped that he would make it in time. He already instructed Friday to take the kid to the common room if he wasn't ready in time when Peter got to the Tower. There were some updates on the Spiderman suit he really wanted to present to the kid. Tony smiled at the though of Peter's excitement. 

"Mr. Stark?"

Again he was rushed from his thoughts. The meeting continued. The men around the table came forward with questions concerning the newest SI project. Tony answered them curtly. 

"Yes." 

"No." 

"Maybe." 

"I don't know." 

"Can you repeat the question?"

His business partner raised an eyebrow at him as a loud sound chimed through the room. Tony was on his feet in an instant. 

"Friday!"

"There is a situation down in your private lab," Friday stated vaguely, omnipresent from the ceiling. It was an internal alarm for matters concerning the Tower and its employees and guest. Tony had recognized it on the first tone. 

He pushed his chair away, grabbed his phone from the table and excused himself halfheartedly from the other meeting participants. 

"Tell me more, Fri," he demanded as he jogged over to the elevator. 

"It seems like Mr. Parker is in distress down in your lab, sir," announced the AI. That made his heart sink and his thoughts tumbling over each other. Tony couldn't even think what he should think and feel first. In the end fear was the leading feeling that overwhelmed him, running him over like a cold wave as he urged Friday to hurry up the private elevator. 

"What's wrong with him?!" 

"He seems to suffer from a concussion. He had been unconscious for 4.6 seconds," Friday stated whilst Tony still tried to focus. Why was Peter hurt in his lab? Why was he down there? Had he been hurt on patrol and did he came into the lab to look for him? For help? But why hadn't Friday informed him the moment Peter had entered the Tower if he had been injured? 

'Breath, Stark!' A voice in his head tried to remind him, but he pushed it away, already too consumed by his concerns. 

The doors of the elevator slid open and revealed a patch of thick redness on the floor of the cabin. Tony froze in his tracks, staring down at the "…blood? Fri…what?" He stepped into the elevator, carefully avoiding the puddle. 

"Hurry, Fri! How is Peter?" 

"Slipping in and out of consciousness, confused."

"Alert the med-bay personnel, Fri."

"Sure thing, Boss."

Tony's gaze was still focused on the red patch on the ground. His pulse was racing and he hold the handrail tight for support, still somewhat fighting back the panic raising in his chest. He was no use to Peter if he collapsed here in the cabin.

The elevator chimed and the door charged open and Tony was greeted by a scene from a nightmare. Boxes lay scattered across the hallway and there were more blotches of red. Like a fight had just happened. The red patches were everywhere. Red puddles on the floor, red smears on the wall. Tony felt his stomach rise involuntary as a wave of nausea hit him. What had happened to his kid?

"What the hell— Peter?!" In the blink of an eye he was at the door to his lab and felt his heart missing several beats at the sight. The lab was an even greater mess. Fallen chairs, paper and blueprints everywhere. Peter was lying on the floor, eyes closed and there was this unnerving red all over and around him.

" _Peter!_ "

— 

There was a high pitched ringing in his ears. Peter groaned, trying to cover his ears, but every movement hurt. Nothing happened, except him shifting a little bit in his uncomfortable position on the lab floor. He couldn't move probably. 

"Wha'?"

Darkness drifted through his head again and when he came back to senses a few seconds later, the pain in his head almost made him wish to be unconscious again. Slowly his memory fell back in place. The annoying elevator, the chaos, the paint, the fall. The damned and cursed art project. 

He lay still for a moment, tracing his body mentally for any other hurting parts except his head, but he seemed fine otherwise. At least physically. 

He totally messed up this one. Remembering the chaos he caused he cringed. Tony wouldn't be pleased at all. And it wasn't like it was the first time of Peter messing up Tony's lab. He wouldn't be surprised if Tony would ground him from entering the lab entirely.

Just Peter Parker luck. 

"Geez," Peter breathed and attempted another try on moving and picking himself up from the floor. On the outer meters of his mental periphery he was aware of noises and a voice coming from outside the lab, but he was too preoccupied by getting up without being sick. 

Concussion. Great. Peter just wished to disappear. Maybe going back to start, working through the day again, as if nothing had ever happened. Maybe this was an option. 

Of course it wasn't. He sighed.

The noises grew louder, Peter could hear footsteps approaching and then there was a shout.

"Peter!"

Peter winced at the volume. He recognized the voice at once. Mr. Stark. Tony. Shit. He was busted. 

He was trying to get a quick apology for the caused mess across his lips as Tony kneeled next to him, but was hushed by the older man in an instant. Peter forced his eyes open. The bright light of the lab wasn't helping the pain in his head and he furrowed his brow. Tony was hovering over him, a deeply concerned look upon his face. 

"Shh, Underoos, don't move," he said, but Peter was already trying to get up again, fighting the embarrassment that was boiling inside his chest. Firm hands hold him down.

"M' Star'," he slurred, blinking and trying to force the two Tonys, which were now in his view, to merge again into one. Peter's gaze traveled along his own shoulders, where Tony's hands rested gently, over his red stained hoodie down til the red puddle Tony was kneeling in. 

Peter's eyes went wide. 

"Pete, what is it? Kid? What happened?!" Mr. Stark was kneeling in the red paint. Frantic and worried. In his, Peter could just imagine how expensive, suit. He was kneeling in the cheap paint, ruining his clothes just because Peter had messed up— again. This got Peter going. With force he pushed Tony's hands away, catching his mentor by surprise, and picked himself up halfway and scuttled back from the engineer. 

"Mr. Stark! Your suit! You'll ruin your suit!"

There was a short silence. Tony was watching the kid with an unreadable expression, which was quickly overtaken by even more concern.

"How hard did you hit your head, kid? Seriously! I couldn't care less about the suit right now! You are hurt," he started. Peter shifted uncomfortably.

"It's fine. I'm fine. I'm sorry…"

"I don't think it's the best time to discuss the definition of ' _fine_ ', Pete," Tony countered and approached the teenager again, wading with his knees through the redness, not giving a single damn about his clothing. 

"No, really, Mr. Stark, I'm fine. Just hit my head a little, but it's already healing."

"Sorry to disappoint you kid, but all the blood and 'hitting my head a little' doesn't roll with me," Tony snapped sarcastically, hands all over Peter again, looking for the potential wound that was the cause of all the presumed blood, ready to rush the teenager to the med-bay.

"Blood?" Peter deadpanned. Then realization hit him. The red paint. 

"Oh, no! No, no, no! Mr. Stark, it's paint!" Tony stopped in his movement, blinking confused.

"Paint?" Peter nodded reassuring.

"Yeah, you know, I have this art-project and I bought the paint and I arrived early at the Tower because of this huge canvas—," he fumbled the canvas into Tony's view from under the work bench, "but it is so big and I somehow caused a little mess transporting it and as I was trying to stop this annoying noise of the elevator, you know, this high pitched beeping, because there was a bag stuck in the door, Mr. Stark, I ripped the lid of the tin too hard and then there was paint everywhere and I wanted to clean it but I somehow messed this up too and fell accidentally and hit my head, but I'm fine, really—," Peter rambled in a rush, catching his breath. 

Tony was listening with one ear, examining the red substance at the same time. Now that his panic was fading he recognized the thicker texture and the missing metallic signature smell of blood. There was only the smell of…well, paint.

'Peter Benjamin Parker, you little shit' Tony though but relaxed visible. 

He sunk back on his heels, hand covering his face which left him with a red smear across his forehead. 

"Oh, kid. You're going to be the death of me."

—

The city was an ocean of lights, the Tower overlooking it. The penthouse was bathed in a warm, glowing orange. Down in the lab an army of small, roomba-like robots was cleaning the floor. Peter and Tony were all cleaned up and dressed in fresh and comfy clothes. Peter was holding an icepack against the back of his head. At least he was finally done reassuring Tony that he was fine. 

"I'm so sorry Mr. Stark," he started again as his mentor was handing him a cup of hot chocolate, before dropping down next to Peter.

"I really hate art class. I try so hard and every time I mess up even more." Peter's shoulders dropped at the thought of the dreading task. Now the canvas was ruined from falling to the floor and he lost a whole tin of color. 

"What was that task again, kiddo?" Peter pulled his knee against his chest, gaze lost in the hot chocolate.

"We are supposed to express the most important moment in our life using some funny color theory ju-ju," he mumbled, shrugging. Tony was silent for a moment, eyes resting on the skyline.

"You had something on mind already? A moment?" He asked out of curiosity. Peter shrugged again, sinking deeper into the cushions. 

"Maybe." A sip of hot chocolate. "I- I was thinking of the moment you defeated Thanos- and you know- when I realized that you survived." His voice was nothing but a mere whisper by now. A soft wind was rushing past the huge windows of the penthouse. 

"You know. Because I thought I lost you, Mr. Stark. For a moment. After all the snapping and stuff." Peter shifted, his mouth a thin line, re-living the moment as he approached Tony on the battlefield after Tony had snapped Thanos and his army for good. The moment when Peter hadn't heard the faintest of heartbeats from Tony for a few seconds, just before Thor brought his heart around. 

"You survived and I was so happy, Mr. Stark." Peter blinked, something glistening in his eyes. Tony was looking at him, huge knot forming in his stomach. He already knew that the moment had been a huge struggle for Peter, but he never realized that it had terrified the kid so deeply.

"You know, since Ben—," Peter whispered, fumbling with the hem of his shirt. "I'd thought I'd lost you, too. I always loose people that are important to me. But this time I didn't. And it made me so happy."

"Oh, kid." Tony closed the distance to the young superhero, put the mug from his hands, and pulled him into a tight hug. 

"I'm so glad," Peter spoke into Tony's hoodie. 

"Me too, kid. Me too."

They sat for a long moment in silence. But then, slowly and steady, the dread of his art project crept up upon Peter again, not able to shake the events of the day entirely. Restless he dropped the icepack, rose and started pacing the room.

"Pete?"

"I'm _doomed_ Mr. Stark! I ruined my canvas! And I can't afford a new…," he paused and then just shook his head. "Never mind. It would have been a waste anyway. I'm totally useless in art."

Tony rose, too. Keeping a neutral expression, he started exiting the room into a distinct direction. 

"C'mon, kiddo. Maybe I can help you out with this one." Peter just looked at him, confusion written across his face. He started following Tony down a corridor and into a large room at one of the tower's 'corners'. The ceiling was unspeakably high and the city lights flooded the room from three sides. Peter had never been in this room before. It was filled with large and small canvases. Finished and unfinished pictures of a great variation of styles. An easel and lots of tins and tubes of paint were to be found in the middle of the room. An atelier. 

"Mr. Stark, wha'…?"

Tony crossed the room, shrugging. "One of the few things, besides tinkering, that keep me sane since, well, Thanos and all his shenanigans."

Peter was totally taken aback. He had never thought that his mentor was into…art? Painting? Tony Stark was _painting_?

"This is awesome, Mr. Stark," he stuttered, slowly creeping into the room.

"That's what I am, kid," Tony smirked, placing an empty canvas on the easel. 

"Not the usual lab-night, but I think, it'll do." He looked at Peter. 

"Yeah, thank you, Mr. Stark!"

And as they both got quietly to work, Tony helping Peter to choose the right colors and techniques, Peter finally thought that he might got the point now. The whole "You have to feel it" part. Finally he solved his personal art equation. Found the solution in the warm feeling of family, of friendship, of belonging and pure happiness.

— 

Peter sat in art class between Ned and MJ the next week, very content, absently shuffling his report paper around his desk. 

"A B? How the hell, dude?" Ned exclaimed, almost shocked.

Peter smiled before judging his friend with a stern gaze.

"Language, Ned! Language!"

— 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
